


if i could just see you (this darkness would turn to light)

by itsactuallycorrine



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, F/M, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsactuallycorrine/pseuds/itsactuallycorrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, 5 times Jemma Simmons didn't see Grant Ward (and 1 time she did)</p><p>All of these take place post-HYDRA reveal and after S02E06 where Simmons tells Ward, "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you". </p><p>So what does Ward do? Makes sure Simmons doesn't see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a follow-up to [i can't seem to let you go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2587499), although you do not have to read that first to understand this, since that work takes place in canon.
> 
> Title from "Storm" by Lifehouse

It was supposed to be a routine research mission: get in so Jemma could find the samples she needed and get out, as quickly as possible. The facility had little-to-no security, according to Trip’s reconnaissance, which is why only Skye accompanied her.

This group wasn’t even affiliated with HYDRA or any other known enemies of SHIELD (or Coulson) – they just had something Jemma desperately needed and an unwillingness to share.

Standing pinned down against a building by an armed guard with extraction still a few minutes away, Jemma isn’t even surprised, just resigned to her fate. She knows by now that any combination of herself and fieldwork will always lead to complications.

“Yeah, nice time for the fatalism to set in,” Skye mutters, hands interlocked behind her head, as are Jemma’s. “But can we save the deathbed confessions for later?”

The old Jemma would probably have blushed or apologized or something at realizing that she’d been speaking her private thoughts aloud, but well, the new Jemma is one twitchy, obviously inexperienced trigger finger away from dying and this scene is becoming way too commonplace for her.

“It’s my fault, you know,” she says conversationally, not really knowing if it’s meant for Skye or the young guard shakily pointing a gun at her. She keeps her eyes trained on the latter; she wants to see it coming if he does finally muster up the resolve. “I could have stayed in a nice, safe lab. _Fitz_ could have stayed in the lab. But I just had to get out, had to join the field. And drag him with me.” She blows her bangs out of her face and nods. “We would’ve been better off, even if we’d been ambushed at the Academy.”

She can feel Skye looking at her and knows she’s about to offer some comfort, but a second guard – obviously more experienced in issues like murder – runs up then, yelling something in Polish, which Jemma doesn’t speak, but she assumes means something along the line of, “What are you waiting for? Shoot them!”

When the first guard still hesitates, looking back at them with sorrowful, innocent eyes, the older guard obviously curses and goes for his own weapon.

What happens next is quick – two soft little pops and both guards tumble like dominos, their foreheads now adorned with one clean bullet-hole each.

Jemma cries out in distress and drops to her knees, seeing Skye doing the same, as well as reaching for the weapon she’d been forced to drop at the beginning of the confrontation.

While Skye makes contact with May, Jemma stares at the younger guard in anguish. He wasn’t going to shoot, Jemma knew that, the older guard knew that. There was no reason for him to be dead right now, none at all, other than Jemma wanted those samples. He was simply… collateral damage.

She tries to hold back the rush of bile that builds at the back of her throat, not because of the corpses, but because of that final thought that crossed her mind.

How had she become this person? Had fieldwork twisted her up inside enough that she was willing to trade a stranger’s life for some research? What had brought her to this point?

Almost as in answer, a phone begins to ring. She pats her own pockets before realizing she hadn’t brought any comm into the field with her; they only had Skye’s.

“What is – is one of them carrying a cell?” Skye asks, turning back to Jemma, trying to stay closer to the building in an effort to reduce her visibility. She immediately goes through the pockets of the older guard, coming up with the ringing phone. “Looks like a burner,” she mutters, almost to herself. Jemma watches, amazed, while she flips it open. “Sorry about your guards,” she begins irreverently, only to stop short.

It doesn’t take more than a second of looking at Skye’s soured expression to know who is calling and Jemma takes a step forward, knowing that she’s most likely not in any danger at the moment. She turns turns on her heel, staring up towards the roof of the closest wing and sees it – the quick glimmer of a sniper’s scope. She knows he did it on purpose, his own macabre salutation, and she turns away in disgust.

She ignores Skye’s strained conversation and takes a step closer to the younger guard, crouching to gently lower his eyelids. She may have cost him his life, but she can give him that one small respect.

As she stands back up, she hears Skye drop the phone and crush it under her heel, several times, violently. “That was Ward,” she says unnecessarily. “He says you’re welcome and hopes you’ll understand that he’s keeping his distance in the unlikely case that you meant your death threat.”

Jemma doesn’t bother to explain that she has every intention of honoring that promise and instead turns to where she can faintly hear May incoming. “He didn’t have to kill them,” she murmurs. “He could’ve just disarmed them.”

“Yeah, well, as he just put it, he gets a little extreme when someone threatens ‘his team’.” Skye pulls a face of disgust. “I guess that’s what happens when you have a sociopathic so-called guardian angel staying one step ahead of you.”

“I don’t know how you stand it,” she confessed to Skye. “This is the first time I’ve been out in the field while he’s done something like this. It’s… unnerving.”

Skye snorts. “That’s a word for it. ‘Creepy as hell’ you might even say.” She looks tired then, tired and sad and a little broken. “It’s… yeah, it’s a little… _much_ to take at times.” Her lips curl up a bit at the corner, in a pale imitation of her old smirk. “But at least it’s keeping him on our side, right? Better to be the protected than the target.”

Jemma just hums in thought as May comes in to land.

 


	2. second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma is taken captive and has an unlikely rescuer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely proofread this, so forgive any mistakes. 
> 
> Also I would just like to state for the record that I am not a Grant Ward apologist, because I think the ending kind of comes off that way??? But no. If they choose to redeem him, it's going to be a long, bloody struggle full of every woman in the MCU kicking his ass (or so I hope).

She doesn't know exactly, but based on the number of meals they've given her, Jemma is almost sure that she’s been held captive for three days, nearly four.

When the first guard she’d seen had brought in thin broth and old bread, she’d peeked through the cell door and thought she saw light. She’s thought of him as the morning guard since then. He’s been in three times so far, as had the man she’d reasoned must be the night guard – keeping her fed and hydrated, but otherwise largely ignoring her.

She tries to comfort herself with the fact that at least they were keeping her alive. Not only alive, but relatively well cared for.

They’re keeping her for ransom or to serve some purpose, for her research, she tells herself, and tries to ignore the reason SHIELD has been looking into them in the first place. That is to say, black market organ transplants – the kind where they not only remove the prisoners’ functioning organs, but replace them with experimental, artificially grown ones as well.

In all her years of testing, Jemma has only had brief moments of empathy towards the lab animals she’d tested on. She imagines they’re all laughing at her now, from their small graves.

She can’t bring herself to sleep or even close her eyes for more than a few brief moments. Though there isn’t much light in the cell, a bit creeps in under the door and she stares at it relentlessly. She’d never been claustrophobic but since… well, it’s comforting to know that if the light can get in, so can oxygen.

So it’s on the possible fourth day that Jemma is sitting on her cot, staring at that light, her anchor to the outside world, waiting for the appearance of her breakfast, that her circumstances finally change.

The first sign that something is going down is the sudden and terrifyingly total darkness. The light simply vanishes and Jemma gapes, unmoored. Dimly she can hear the muffled cry of one of the guards and a large thump hit the floor, but she can hardly focus on that.

Instead, all she can feel is the first curls of panic beginning deep inside, can feel the walls start to close in as she starts to gasp, endless fruitless gasping, the pressure is too much, it’s going to crush her, there’s not enough air, the oxygen, she’s running out, there’s not enough for her and---

“Whoa, deep breath,” a masculine voice says. In an American accent, too, so he’s not a guard. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

She concentrates on doing just that, counting seven in and eight out, until she can control herself. Over the sound of her breath is the soft _pop_ she subconsciously recognizes as a silenced gunshot.

As she calms, she tries to focus her eyes, but in the total blackness she can’t even make out a shape. Footsteps approach her and she knows he’s deliberately walking heavily, to alert her of his location. If he didn’t want her to hear him, she wouldn’t.

The realization is slow to come and washes out the relief she’s been feeling, replacing it with dread and streaks of fear. “Ward?” she asks, voice quavering with uncertainty.

She feels the air moving with his body as he turns in her direction and senses his hesitation. “Yes,” he confirms and she can practically see his smirk. “If I try to move you, are you going to panic again?”

“No!” She shakes her head at the defensive tone and tries again. “No. What… how are you-”

“Let’s hold the Q&A until we’re out.” With that, he’s suddenly in her immediate personal space, she didn’t even hear him coming this time, and his arms are going around her.

She can’t hold back the undignified squawk but bites her lip at his amused huff as he lifts her into a fireman’s hold.

“Once we hit the doors, you might want to shut your eyes,” he warns. “Even though it’s just before dawn, you still might be able to see and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be forced into killing me halfway through your rescue.”

Jemma pulls a face at him in the darkness, but does as he says, childishly screwing her eyes tight as soon as she feels the cool morning air, heavy with moisture, on her face. “I never used to, you know,” she says, striving for a conversational tone, and takes his inquiring _hmmm_ as an invitation to continue. “Panic that is. Not really. Oh small fits of anxiety or anger here and there, but not like that. Not until…”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Jemma lets the silence lay heavy between them, broken up only by the fall of his feet over grass. “I was following orders,” he finally says.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t your orders to _kill_ us?”

She can feel his shoulders tense beneath her. “Are you saying you’d rather I’d done that?! I gave you a chance, the only chance I could. At least you both survived.”

“But at what cost, Ward?” She regrets it as soon as she’s said it, even knowing that deep down, she’s been thinking it a while. “Skye was right, you don’t even see that what you did is wrong. You’re all for making excuses, but you refuse to take any responsibility for your actions. My life, Fitz’s life, the lives of everyone on that team, have all been changed for the worse for knowing you.”

She wish she could say she’d been expecting it, but she’s shocked when he drops her in a heap on the ground, leaves wet with morning dew immediately sticking to her bare arms.

“That may be true,” he finally admits in a voice that is deceptively calm for the violence he just displayed, “but at least I’m an asset when some stupid scientist gets herself kidnapped. And your righteous _team_ is not above using me. So you’re welcome for saving your life. _Again._ ”

It’s so quiet after that that Jemma assumes he’s gone, though she’s yet to open her eyes, just in case, until she hears, “Count to 100 and then open your eyes. I’ll let them know where to find you.”

She counts to 200 to be safe and when she blinks them open she sees dawn breaking over the horizon and Coulson running towards her through a grove of trees.


	3. third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma receives a disturbing phone call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Another chapter so quick???
> 
> Don't get used to such quick updates, but I was really excited about writing this chapter, which I hope comes through. This chapter is a little different than the last 2.
> 
> I am hoping to crank all the parts of this story out before it gets inevitably canon-balled, but if it happens tonight, at least I got this one up.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kind words, kudos, and likes on Tumblr, guys! I'm glad you all like this weird little ship as much as I do.

Finding the inconspicuous burner phone in the drawer of medical files she’s been tasked with cataloging isn’t a shock to Jemma anymore. She simply passes it along to Skye and continues her duty.

Nearly four months after his escape, Ward has managed to be one step ahead of them on no less than a dozen fact-finding missions, while wreaking God-knew-what havoc in his spare time.

Each time he’d left a phone, Skye would take it, speak to him for a few terse minutes, and then destroy it. After she often withdraws immediately, quiet and moody, as is her right. It's an unspoken to rule to try to give her space every time it happens.

Ward has even had a few messages to pass on to other members of the team – the _original_ team, that is; Skye hasn’t been shy about discussing Ward’s jealousy over Trip, Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter, about how bitter he was at being “replaced”.

There’s been no word for Jemma, though, not since her captivity a few weeks ago.

Which makes it all the more alarming when, mere seconds after fielding the call, Skye hands the phone to Jemma. “Call for you, Simmons,” she says, her face and voice both reflecting her dismayed confusion.

Jemma looks up from her files, ready to answer: _That’s not necessary,_ or, _No thank you_. But then she thinks about how little choice Skye has been given in the matter. If Jemma can spare her even a small part of that…

“Very well,” she says begrudgingly, taking the device and with it a deep calming breath, as she lifts it to her ear. “Ward.”

 “You haven’t been sleeping,” he says, skipping all niceties.

Jemma rolls her eyes, turning her back to Skye. “I am well aware of that, so if that’s the only reason you rang…” she begins to pull away, moving it back to her ear only when she hears him shout her name.

“The captivity?” And she’s mildly impressed; he almost sounds genuinely concerned.

“Among other things. What do you want?”

“What other things?” When she doesn’t answer, he answers for her. “Fitz.”

The name makes her flinch and for some reason, she knows he’s aware of it. “I don’t wish to speak about that. I believe that you and I have a rather large difference of opinion in that area.”

He makes a thoughtful humming noise. “They’re all still blaming you for it, aren’t they? You can see it in their eyes, wondering how you could have abandoned him when he needed you most.”

Jemma clears her throat, trying to dislodge the lump that’s building there. “I did what I thought was best.”

“I know, Simmons,” he consoles. “And how have they repaid you for it? Replaced you? Relegated you to the fringes of the team? I mean, Fitz has Mack, Bobbi and Hunter are always together, Coulson is either with Skye or May, and Trip is out so often. Who does that leave you?”

She tries not to think about how these thoughts are a very large part of what’s been keeping her up at night. “I know what you’re doing,” she says instead. “You’re trying to isolate me from the rest of the team. It won’t work, you know. I didn’t join SHIELD for the _teamwork_ ; I joined it to make a difference.”

“You’re becoming paranoid, Simmons.” He chuckles a little, though the sound is not at all comforting. “I’m just stating what I’ve been seeing when I’m able to watch over you guys.”

“ _Watch over_ ,” she scoffs. “Like your job is still to protect us, like that was ever your intention in the first place.”

She can practically hear his jaw clench over the line and his next words are so strained, it gives her a small sense of satisfaction that she was able to needle him. “I told you: I was following orders and I did everything I could to ensure your survival. And obviously it was the right choice, because you’re both alive.”

“You _dropped_ Fitz and me _into the ocean_ in a _big metal box_.”

“Yeah, and then somehow you made it out just fine while Fitz bore the brunt of the oxygen deprivation. Oh, and first chance you got, you hightailed it out of the Playground – away from him, _your best friend_ , when he needed you most.”

Jemma feels frozen, from the inside out, and ignores the pricking of tears behind her eyes. “I left because I was doing him more harm than good. I left for _him_ , because he is my best friend, or he was, and I wanted to give him his best chance towards recovery. And he did beautifully, Mack has helped him so much, so I would do it again if necessary.”

“You see, Simmons,” he picks up conversationally. “You and I? We’re not so different. What’s that you said to me the last time I saw you? Something about making excuses, but not taking responsibility?”

She sucks in a quick, painful gasp and somehow manages a quiet, but firm, “Go to hell,” before terminating the call – as she should’ve done long before – and chucking the phone against the wall of the office she was standing in.

The sound brings Skye running back in from the outer office, and she stares in bemusement at the phone pieces. “He has that effect on people,” is all she says, before going back to her own duties, pillaging the hard drive of the receptionist’s computer.

Jemma’s head is spinning, weaving her own darkest fears, the ones that came to whisper to her at night when she was sleeplessly staring at her ceiling, with Ward’s words.

She takes a few calming breaths and then turns back to her cataloging.

Now, more than ever, she needs something to take her mind of her circumstances.

She’ll have enough time to mull this all over when she should be sleeping.


End file.
